[Medium Sized Model - 25mm Base]
[Presupported with LYS files in 32mm & 75mm Scale]
[No Hat Variant Included]
A stalwart Inquisitor who approaches combat with a strange elegance and speed despite his cumbersome weapon. Sir Albert prefers to move without heavy armour weighing him down, speeding to close distance between his foes, using a seemingly otherworldly strength to bring them down in a single strike. There are whispers among other Inquisitors that he may be one of the fabled “Dark Inquisitors,” those among them who are empowered by magical means or augmentation to have them better hunt their foes. Though none are brave enough to ask this to Sir Albert’s face.
A small town boy from a village often omitted from maps of Baldur, owing to its unexceptional, dull and unnoteworthy history. Its significant contributions to Baldur’s history and modern economy could be scrawled on the palm of a newborn; yet that bears little worry upon the residents of Oakrun, who’ve enjoyed abundant tranquility in their unsung hamlet for centuries, free from the fires of rebellion, tyrannous kings and rampaging hordes of orcs and brigands. Such serenity, however, is not eternal, despite what beliefs the villagers may have held. It takes but one blighted stalk to ruin a crop, as was the case in Oakrun nigh a decade past.
Quaint villages like Oakrun were coveted by fugitive mages, outlaws seeking shelter and liberty from the shackles of the Inquisition. Oakrun became the place that the mage Wendel Gracius settled in after his narrow escape from a firing squad in Grimgate. Though he was sparse on the details, he swore to aid the townsfolk with their mundane trifles should they shelter him and lead astray and pursuant Inquisitors who might question the townsfolk of his whereabouts. Some hesitated with the notion of deceiving authority with guileful tales, but Wendel was quick to gain their favour after healing the gammy leg of an ail-ridden boy, Albert, the eldest son of the town’s mayor. Young Albert quickly took to the new arcane-inclined visitor, with the rest of the residents soon following suit. Indeed it seemed Wendel had begun to remedy most problems in the village in a matter of days, earning him the hearts and minds of all who lived there, and no longer would they hesitate to shroud his place among them from the Inquisitors.
Yet the Inquisitors are not so easily fooled, and after weeks of fruitless searching around the village, they chose once more to search within it, interrogating the inhabitants relentlessly for information of the mage’s whereabouts. Finally, the veil was lifted, the revelation of Wendel’s presence unearthed through panicked villagers cracking under the pressure of an iron hand. Their stories crumbled like pillars of sand upon scrutiny from the steel-clad soldiers, and his location was finally given up under threat of death. Death was never in the books for the mage however, and unbeknownst to the Inquisitors, they had fallen into his trap. In the brief days he had spent in Oakrun, he had weaved his fingers into the minds of near-half the townsfolk, bending them to whatever will he needed, unbeknownst to their kin and compatriots. As the Inquisitors marched to the old barn that sheltered the mage, they were beset by a large group of townsfolk, armed with scythes, pitchforks and hunting bows. Those who were not bent to his will were initially confused, though before long joined the fray, convinced their kin were acting of their own accord to defend the mage that had brought such aid to their community.
It was a bloodbath. The squad of ten Inquisitors were reduced to five, and at their feet, twenty villagers lay dead, another ten direly wounded. A sizeable portion of the settlement’s entire population. Among those dead was the mayor and his wife, and the young Albert was filled with rage at the men, bounding towards them with unimaginable speed, tackling one to the ground with the strength of a giant and caving in his breastplate. His assault was short-lived, a simple blow to his head knocked him unconscious, and he would later awake in a cage next to Wendel, drawn by horse. The Inquisitor Knights revealed to the young boy that they were not responsible for the death of his parents, but the mage was, having bent their minds to carelessly throw themselves at armed men to defend him. With a sword to his throat, Wendel confessed his crimes, and apologised to the young Albert for what happened to his parents, and having misled him. Apologies were wasted on the grieving orphan though, his grief begot rage, and in rage he demanded the cart to stop, so that he might slay Wendel himself.
The surviving cohort laughed, yet the captain obliged, halting the cart and opening the cage, ripping both Wendel and Albert from it. He remarked at the boy’s strength, citing that despite his size he bore power far beyond what grown men could do, though Albert felt his strength was as it always had been. Wishing to test the theory, he handed Albert a sword, and demanded him to exact his revenge against the man who orphaned him. No sooner than the hilt was wrapped in Albert’s grip did he drive the blade laterally against the mage, cleaving him in two at the waist, though launching his upper torso upwards of ten yards, splattering his innards and viscera across the roadside. The hardened soldiers were taken aback: none had seen such a feat. Yet the captain knew he had found a special weapon for the Inquisitors instead. Albert was allowed to ride upon the horseback the rest of the way to the city of Arvere, all the while the captain and Inquisitors told the young lad of the work they do, and how he might truly avenge his parents by ensuring men like Wendel ceased to exist across the kingdom. So fervent did Albert grow that he began to hate the part of him he knew was enhanced by magic. Some sort of concoction Wendel had sprung upon him, no doubt. He came to realise that he indeed never had a gammy leg, and it was perhaps some form of ruse against him, an altered memory on both him and all the townsfolk: indeed it was more likely that Wendel had placed a powerful enchantment on the young boy, hoping to use him as a secret weapon in times of desperation.
Though when the Liturium clasps closed around his hands, whatever hold he had on Albert’s mind ceased, though the enchantment prevailed, and the young boy exacted his vengeance promptly. Thereafter he was inducted into the junior ranks of the Inquisitors, groomed for officer training and instilled within the ranks of the Dark Inquisitors, the most secretive sect of the organisation. Albert was among those like himself within them, though they were forced to mostly keep to themselves except in the most dire of times, and not even regular Inquisitors were privy to know their identities, nor which Inquisitors may hold the clandestine association. Still, most suspect it of Albert, for he does not hide his otherworldly strength and speed, one which rivals the heroes of the Age of Creation. Within Grimhelm’s rebellion, he perhaps poses the biggest threat of all for those who might oppose the Crown, though like all men he bleeds, and can be killed should he be careless.
